Like A Virgin
by Venillashiz
Summary: Chuck Bartowski's seven-year-old son learns a new swear word, and he's adamant to find out what it means. Rated T for swearing. Happy Father's Day, everyone!


A/N: This has to be the most explicit thing I've written in my life. It's not much to some, but I've never written something like that before. And the title of it (thank you, Madonna!) is completely ironic. You'll see. It's something for all the dads out there, who may experience this some time in Fatherhood. Well, I wouldn't know, I'm a fifteen year old girl.

Happy Father's Day!

Disclaimers - Don't own Chuck, Madonna's title and **theprincess1511** helped loads :D

Rated T for swearing and some borderline (very, very borderline, trust me) sexual themes.

* * *

Joshua Bartowski stood at attention, eyes directed to his shoe-covered feet as he hung his head shamefully. Expecting a painful pull of his ear or a stinging slap to his buttocks, he shut his eyes tightly, tensing up each of the areas where his mother usually inflicted pain upon – only when he misbehaved, of course.

But to his surprise, his mom merely burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. And when he looked up – cautiously, because you could never be too sure with adults – to meet her familiar cobalt eyes with his own pair of tear-filled chocolate orbs, he saw no anger or irritation in them. _What__'__s so funny? _

"Chuck!" His mother yelled, and immediately, his eyes shot to the floor again as he squirmed in his spot. Balling his fists tightly, he gripped the sides of his Superman t-shirt, tears threatening to spill over in a tidal wave of emotion. _Don__'__t call Daddy. Don__'__t call Daddy!_

"Chuck, honey, your son wants to speak to you!" Sarah yelled again, voice travelling up the stairs to where his father's office was located. He stared at the floor, puzzled and angered now. _I don__'__t want to speak to Daddy! Why is she lying? _

He gritted his teeth in anticipation as his father clambered down the stairs, a bright smile that would look rather morbid in its place after his mother told him of his son's antics. Chuck greeted his mother with a kiss, and once again, he directed his gaze to the floor, disgusted. At the corner of his tear-filled eyes, he spied a silent exchange between his parents, and in a second, his father was caressing his head, amusement apparent in his eyes.

Chuck cleared his throat, and Josh could see the gears in his father's head, turning and oiled up, as he contemplated what to say to him. "Joshie, where... uh, where did you learn that word?"

He looked down again, not wanting to meet his father's eyes, as comforting and kind as they were. He knew that if he stared at them for an extended period of time, he would begin to crumble and cry under his gaze.

"I... I learnt it from Janie... she's a girl in my class," he spoke softly, hesitantly, as though he were sharing a dangerous secret.

"And you want to know what it means?" Chuck added, the amused twinkle never leaving his eye, though his voice remained serious and downright fatherly. "Who else did you ask?"

"I... already asked Uncle Johnny, Uncle Morgan and Robbie," he spoke even softer, in remembrance of his parents' long-time family friend, his dad's weird best friend and his elder brother, Robert.

* * *

Casey stared down at the seven-year-old boy before him, an expression that could only spell panic, fluttering across his face. The boy grinned up at him, attempting to wave a hand in front of his face, but only reaching his knee.

"Uncle Casey? Did you hear me? Yoohoo!" His hand still hovered over his knee, before Casey picked him up and sat him down on the Bartowski couch. "I asked if you knew what _fuck _meant."

Casey cleared his throat nervously, looking the boy straight in the eye. "Don't you think you should be asking your father about this?"

Josh merely shook his head.

"Alright, Joshua, I'll tell you what it means, just so your daddy will get his panties in a bunch," he grinned evilly, ignoring the rational part of his brain that screamed of Sarah Walker's wrath.

"You see, when a man loves a woman–"

"Like Daddy loves Mommy?"

"Joshua, what did I say about interrupting?"

"I'm sorry for interrupting, Uncle Casey. Please continue."

"Right, do you remember the time where I came over and we watched _The Big Bang Theory_? And suddenly there were these weird moans and groans coming from your parents' room?"

"Yes, I thought they had turned into zombies!"

"Well, Joshie, your parents were _fucking_."

* * *

"Uncle Morgan."

A finger prodded his nose, and he grunted, rolling over on his side where he faced the back of the couch. The incessant buzzing continued to fill his ears as his godchild repeated his name, over and over.

"Uncle Morgan."

Morgan snorted, and lifted a hand to scratch his beard.

"Uncle Morgan."

A rain of fingertips prodded his back, and he squirmed in the comfort of a massage.

"UNCLE MORGAN!"

He bolted upright, nearly missing the accomplished smirk on the young boy's face as he rubbed a hand over his tired eyes.

"Josh, it's two in the morning!"

Josh cocked his head to the side in puzzlement, raising his brow for good measure to convey his confusion. "Why are you sleeping on our couch then?"

"Because Aunt Alex threw me out of the house," he responded, eyes suddenly downcast.

"There, there." A comforting palm rested itself on his arm. "You tried to get her to dress up as Miranda Lawson again, didn't you?"

"Wha– who told you that?"

"I heard Daddy telling that to my mom. He said that Mommy looked more suited for that role, and he even called her Operative Lawson after they went to bed. I heard him shout it through the door. I don't know what that means though. Who is Miranda Lawson, Uncle Morgan?"

"Ahh, you don't need to know that right now, Joshie. I'll _show _her to you, when you're older."

"Okay, but I have another question."

"Shoot."

"What does _fuck _mean?"

* * *

"Joshie, remember when we played The Sims 3 together? And when the two of them were relaxing on the bed together, they went and did the "woohoo"?"

He nodded vigorously, wondering what The Sims 3, a computer game, had anything to do with the word _fuck. _

"Well, and do you remember they got under the covers and all?"

"Uh-huh."

"That's called fucking. It's when two people have sex and _woohoo, _do you get it?"

"But, why?"

"Why, what? It's like Mom and Dad. They just went and did the woohoo and they fucked. That's how you and I came about."

"Oh. Okay."

"And Joshie?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't use that word, alright? It's not a good word."

"Okay. Thanks Robbie."

He walked away with a fresh, burning question in his mind.

_What does sex mean? _

* * *

As Chuck settled into his plush king-sized bed – not so different from the old bed that he had occupied during his spy days – he shot a grin at his wife, clad only in a tank-top and boy shorts, a well-worn book placed in her hands. She raised an eyebrow in his direction as he placed a kiss to her lips.

The book clattered to the floor as he deepened their kiss, their tongues intertwining in an intricate dance of passion. She smiled against his lips as she tasted the sweet essence of tangerine that lingered from his toothpaste.

"How'd it go?" She asked, mumbling into his lips as she wrapped her arms around his neck, moving to straddle her husband, his back to the headboard of their bed.

"Pretty well, I think," he replied, resting his forehead against hers as he ran his hand slowly up her spine and back down. "He's in love with his classmate, and when she kept using it, he wanted to know what it meant, so that he could show her that he was 'cool'."

Chuckling slightly, he added, "He wants to know why I keep calling you Operative Lawson."

She raised an eyebrow, pausing to shoot him a puzzled look. Then she smacked teasingly him on the arm, to his obvious surprise. "I told you to stop shouting that whenever we..."

He grinned, deploying his infamous Bartowski eye-brow dance. "Whenever we... _fucked_?"

"God, no wonder our sons are completely perverse."

"Hey, it's not my fault you bear so much resemblance to Miranda Lawson, or Yvonne Strahovski, for that matter."

"I do not! It's you, and your stupid fan-boy fantasies. You don't see me pretending that you're Zachary Levi or something."

"Well, _Operative Lawson_, how's about you and I get down to the engine room again and..."

A shrill voice broke them from their thoughts as Josh's voice resonated through their bed room. "Daddy, Mummy? Are you two fucking again?"

Sarah shook her head in awe, glaring at her husband with half-guarded amusement. "What in the world did you tell him?"

They winced as the voice echoed through the house once more.

"UNCLE CASEY, UNCLE CASEY! MUMMY AND DADDY ARE FUCKING AGAIN!"

* * *

It's pretty short, but I hope you guys liked it. I wrote this at 5am, so... yeah, my mind's pretty screwed up when it's tired.


End file.
